


The Cleft of the Matter

by grimVhenan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bull as Aesthetician, Gen, One-Shot, Spa-Day, crack-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimVhenan/pseuds/grimVhenan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crack-fic that appeared after a friend found herself in a hilarious position. AU where Iron Bull never ran with the Chargers but actually works as an aesthetician in an Orlesian spa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cleft of the Matter

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, Vivienne.”  
“For what, darling?” Vivienne answered, absent-mindedly twirling a feather on her coat between two fingers.  
“For my day of relaxation?”  
“This will be relaxing. Trust me.”

Sanre didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. A spa—no, a torture chamber—was not the highest on her list of things to do on a coveted day off from what looked like a life as the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, blah blah blah. While she might’ve been still in bed back at Skyhold, curled up under the covers reading one of Varric’s latest chapters, enjoying, well, herself, she was here about to poked, prodded and attacked to within an inch of her life.  


The Dalish were a noble, beautiful people. This was a truth even Sanre couldn’t deny. But to have hairs pulled from places hairs ought to grow, to have strange goop rubbed into already sore muscles and endure endless Orlesian banter for the entirety of the day—this was not the place for her, and everyone except for Vivienne knew it. 

The Enchantress had a smile as demure and smug as a cat’s when she stood and greeted their assistant for the day. She was a pretty thing: she had bright blue eyes and a genuine air of kindness, so it was surprising when she led Vivienne to one door, and Sanre into another, and barely said a word before closing the door on them both.  


Sanre heard Vivienne laugh and call out to her, “Enjoy, dearest! You’ll thank me when we’re done.”

Sanre barely had a moment to herself when the door on the other side of the room opened and a male Qunari stepped in. He was gigantic: all rippling muscle and scars, horns stretched out to the full length of his broad shoulders. He was also wearing an eyepatch. The Qunari bowed to her.  
“Good day to you, ma’am. I’ll be helping you today. My name is Iron Bull.”  
Sanre’s mouth was possibly open. Possibly. All she knew was the shock had drained all wit from her.  
“Is there a problem, ma’am?” The Qunari asked, lighting incense with a small match.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”  


There was a moment of pause in the Qunari. It was so slight that Sanre might have even imagined it in the state she was in, but she considered she might have offended him. The Iron Bull took a maroon towel from a shelf and walked towards her. As he did this, he stared at her. Intensely. Sanre tried to look away, but she considered it wasn’t that easy to look away when a Qunari she might have insulted was staring her down.  


Sanre felt herself blush. Felt it go the full length of her, as if she were suddenly set on fire. The Qun chuckled and winked with his good eye. Fenedhis, she was definitely going to kill Vivienne when they were reunited.  
“No ma’am. I’ll be helping you. No mistake.”  
He held out the towel.  
“When I return, you should just be wearing this. Lie on the table on your front.”  


Sanre refused to take the towel. This was some grand cosmic joke. Sera and Dorian would probably come flying out of the rafters as soon as she hit her smallclothes, and then that would be the end of that. She was expecting a slight woman. Someone who she wouldn’t mind touching her because she’d be so unassuming. This Qunari looked like he belonged on the battlefield, not here.  
The Iron Bull lay the towel across the head of the table, where a cushion for her head to rest in lay, then inclined his head in a small bow.  
“I’ll be only a moment.” 

Despite herself, Sanre mechanically removed and folded her clothing, then wrapped herself in the towel and lay on the table. She could just about see the door from where she lay, and kept an eye on it as best she could. He had been quite a long time, had he not? Sanre breathed deeply, trying to calm the patter of her heart. Was that Vandal Aria she could smell in the incense? It was lovely. The room was comfortably dark; the environment no doubt constructed to make their clients at ease and as comfortable as possible. She told herself to stop analysing the situation. To just enjoy it. She heard Vivienne's laugh from the room next door and wondered who she had assisting her.  


The door opened, and in came the Iron Bull, holding onto a tray full of small bottles and boxes of product. She tried to crane her neck to take a better look at what he had, but it hurt her neck too much and she gave up. If this was going to happen, she would have to be brave and just let it bloody well happen.  
The first part of the session was actually quite enjoyable, though she was loathe to admit it. Bull’s gentle and considered nature came through, and he spoke in dulcet tones as he rubbed the kinks out of her sore muscles, rubbing oil across her skin. She didn’t even mind when he moved the towel aside to rub her lower back. If she began writhing to gain some kind of purchase against the table while he did so, who cared? It wasn't as if he knew who she was—Vivienne had seen to that when she had set the appointment—and she’d never see the Qunari again, so she decided she’d just enjoy it.  


An hour later saw her letting him wax her body: armpits, legs, bikini line, even her face! It was painful, and fierce, and slightly uncomfortable, but Bull laughed each time she glowered at him or cried out, and it became a kind of game between them. He pushed, and she pushed back, but he always won. Strangely, she felt quite safe with him. He looked like a pirate, like a warrior, like he belonged in the battlefield, but the incense drifting around his horns and the tilt of his head when he asked her to do something made him fit right in. 

When he told her to turn over onto her front and pull her cheeks apart she groaned but still obeyed him. As Bull ran his fingers across the cleft of her arse, she considered she might even return to see him again if it was going to be this fun all the time.  
“Say,” he began, rubbing another strip of thick cloth across the wax between her buttocks, “you actually look quite familiar.”  
“Mm?”  
“Aren’t you the one they call the Inquisitor?”  
Fenedhis, she was going to kill Vivienne.  
She groaned aloud. Bull laughed and ripped the cloth towards him.


End file.
